


And they were shipmates!

by theblobfishwrites



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier has to save the day for once...Sort of, Jaskier should not have to deal with this, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Idiocy, Mutual Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, canon atypical seasickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23319034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblobfishwrites/pseuds/theblobfishwrites
Summary: And they were shipmates!...Oh my god they were shipmates! :O
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 293





	And they were shipmates!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic ever and I'm very nervous. I hope you enjoy it!

“There ya go, lad,” shouted the sailor over the noise of the crashing waves in the harbour and tossed Jaskier a little key. Attached to the key was a piece of leather with the number 12 branded into it. 

Jaskier caught the key in his free hand, his other one was holding the straps of the small bag containing all of his humble worldly possessions. Only his lute was strapped across his back as usual.

Jaskier sighed deeply one last time and then walked over the wooden plank in front of him and onto the deck of the _Schicksal,_ the small passenger ship on which he had booked passage to Skellige a few days earlier. 

It was a very desperate final attempt. When the witcher had yelled those horrible things to him in the Kestrel Mountains, the cruel words had pierced Jaskier's heart deeply and scattered it into a thousand tiny pieces. 

There was no denying to himself now anymore that Jaskier had been deeply in love with the witcher. But the witcher had made it very clear that he wanted to be rid of Jaskier and so Jaskier had spent the last few months desperately trying to get over his bloody feelings for the man. 

He had drunk himself senseless in several nameless taverns, only to wake up each morning with his heart still aching and his head alongside with it. He had slept with any pretty young thing he had encountered, female, male, neither, both, but none of his nightly encounters could cheer him up anymore. He had tried to drown out his heartbreak by plunging himself into his career, but everywhere he went, someone would sooner or later request one of those bloody songs he had written about the witcher. It was hopeless. There had never even happened anything between the two of them, Geralt was in love with Yennefer after all, and yet Jaskier couldn’t get the man out of his head anymore. 

And so he had finally decided to book passage on a ship from Novigrad to Skellige, hoping that with physical distance he could finally get free of the witcher’s hold on his broken heart. Or at least maybe that the people there wouldn’t request those bloody songs as much. 

He went below deck and quickly found the little cabin with the same number as his key and got busy settling in. He threw his lute on the small bed in the corner, stored his clothes in the little dresser on the opposite site and sat down on the chair beside the bed. And that was all the furniture his room had to offer. Jaskier sighed. He had even booked one of the most expensive cabins, but apparently space was a rare commodity when traveling via ship. At least that's what he'd been told. 

The ship took off soon after, the floor below Jaskier's feet gently swayed with the movement of the waves. 

Jaskier considered what to do with the rest of the evening. There would be plenty of days and opportunity to make back some of the coin he had spent on the voyage by performing for the crew and the passengers on the deck, but today he didn’t quite feel like company anymore, his heart aching with the memory of why this trip was necessary, and so he simply locked the cabin door from the inside and retired to bed.

The next morning Jaskier awoke to the sound of waves crashing against the little round window in his cabin. He looked out through the thick glass. The sky was gray and heavy with clouds, but it didn’t seem like it was raining just yet. Jaskier hurried to get dressed so that he could still get some breakfast and then perform a little on deck, before the downpour would start. He brought his lute along to the dining hall, which was located in a hut built on top of the deck. Jaskier helped himself to some greyish oatmeal (lately everything tasted bland and boring to him anyway) while watching the few other passengers that had gathered yet. A few noblemen, a few commoners. Some children were playing catch between the banks. Everything was peaceful. He tried to relax. Jaskier would have to get used to peacefulness again after the last years of his life had been so full of danger and adventure. 

No, he told himself. No more thinking about that. He had to get _him_ out of his head after all! He had to stop his thoughts from always trailing back to their time travelling together. 

Jaskier finished his breakfast, got up and walked outside and to the bow of the ship. At least he thought that's what the very tip of a ship was called. He had overheard some sailors shouting it to one another on the day when he had booked the passage. 

The bow (probably) was decorated with the carved statue of a beautiful siren, wrapping itself around the large wooden beam protruding over the waves below from where the railings of both sides of the ship met. A very poetic spot, it seemed to him. Perfect for his work. He propped his leg up against the railing and started strumming his lute. 

After some twenty minutes or so he had gathered a small crowd around him. Mostly kids, who sat cross-legged in a half circle around Jaskier and looked up at him with large eyes, but there was the occasional bored adult passenger standing behind the kids as well, and one or two of the sailors were humming along to his tunes while going about their work. 

And of course after a couple of songs people started requesting his witcher songs again, but Jaskier for once actually managed relatively successfully to brush the pieces of his broken heart aside and to concentrate more on the music than on the story behind the lyrics. He breathed in the fresh morning air. Maybe this voyage would work out in his favour after all, he thought hopefully. 

As the first raindrops came down, his audience quickly dispersed and hurried down into their respective cabins below deck. Jaskier looked at the little bowl he had nicked from the breakfast buffet earlier and then put up in front of him for people to throw their coins into. It was decently filled, considering the modest size of his audience. 

Jaskier gathered the coin into his purse and returned the bowl to the dining hall, where he was chased out again immediately because lunch wasn't quite ready yet. He hurried toward the stairs leading down below deck instead to get out of the rain.

In the dim grey light of the late morning he didn’t see the shadow that was looming just inside the doorframe to the staircase and so he bumped into this other passenger that had been standing there. Painfully. Whomever he’d run into was tall, broad and sturdy. Jaskier bounced back from a muscular chest, instinctively mumbled an apology and looked up into the stranger's face. 

No. Jaskier's jaw dropped. No, it couldn’t be. That wasn’t fair. Jaskier felt his blood rushing into his face and the tips of his ears burning hot. 

The man in front of him was dressed entirely in black, with two large swords strapped to his back. His face was lined with several scars and framed by long strands of white hair, which made his bright amber eyes even more prominent. 

Of bloody course in the doorway stood no other than the bloody witcher himself! Well, actually not bloody for once, Jaskier noticed, just strangely pale in his face, even more so than usual. 

Jaskier yelped and then managed to press out something that could, with some generosity, be interpreted as “Excuse me”. He ducked beneath the witcher’s arm on the handrail and darted down the stairs, down the dimly lit corridor and into his cabin, almost stumbling over his feet, he was running so fast. 

He threw the cabin door closed behind him, fumbled in his pockets for the key, locked the door and turned around to let his back fall against the door before slowly sliding down alongside it, so that he ended up sitting with his back to the door. He carefully leaned his lute against the side of the dresser next to him. 

Jaskier let out the breath in his lungs which he only now realized he had been holding for some time. Why was the witcher on the ship? What was he doing here? 

The point of this journey was to get as far away as possible from the witcher, leaving half an ocean between them, not to be locked up on a ship together with him for weeks, with little space to avoid one another. 

Jaskier noticed he was painfully holding his breath again and forced himself to take some deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. Ok, the witcher was aboard the same stupid ship. Jaskier couldn’t change that now. He needed a battleplan. Some sort of strategy to make sure he’d survive this journey. With the witcher. On the same ship. Fuck. 

He could, of course, always lock himself in his cabin until they’d reach their destination. It was the most logical option. He’d have to somehow get food and water of course. But maybe he could just sneak out in the middle of the night, snatching some leftovers from the kitchen and hoping that by then Geralt would already be asleep in his own cabin. (Ouch, it still stung to think his name out loud). It could work. Except he wouldn’t be able to perform for the entire voyage. He’d arrive in Skellige with barely a coin in his pockets and also deprived of what little dignity he still had left to his name. Not the most glamorous way to start into his new, witcher-free life. And he wouldn’t be getting any sunlight for a couple of days. His skin would take on that horrible yellowy-pale tone it always did when he’d lock himself up inside somewhere for too long, lamenting about some lost love or pouting about a particular nasty booing after a performance. But nonetheless it was a solid plan. 

No, Jaskier decided, shaking his head. His objective was to get over the witcher, and he wouldn’t achieve that if he let the man have that much power over him. It was time for a more attack-heavy battleplan. 

He would march out there every single day, acting all normal, pretending that he didn’t even know the witcher. About time, the guy tasted some of his own medicine of being ignored and disregarded. Yes, that’s what Jaskier would do, he decided and nodded heavily. He didn’t owe the witcher anything. Certainly not to hide away under deck like some lousy stowaway, too poor to pay for the privilege to go above deck! He had spent enough coin on this bloody trip, goddammit! 

  
It would be hard though. So very, very hard. Oh gods. He leaned his head back against the door. Hopefully the witcher would go along in pretending not to know each other and wouldn’t try to talk to him. Jaskier didn’t know if he’d be able to keep his composure if the witcher tried to talk to him. 

Somewhere above deck a bell sounded, signalling that it was time for lunch. Very well. It was time to put his plan to the test. Time to walk out the cabin door, hold his head up high and spit and laugh in the witcher’s face! Or well, not quite literally that, but he knew what he meant. 

In the end it was some thirty minutes or so after the bell that Jaskier had finally managed to scrape up the necessary courage to walk out the cabin door and back onto the deck. The light rain had already let off again. He looked around to see if there was any white hair to be spotted. And indeed, there he was, the witcher, leaning against the railing all nonchalant, just a few feet away and looking hella attractive with his now damp black shirt clinging tightly to his muscular chest. Fuck. 

He was looking straight at Jaskier, as if he had been waiting for the bard to appear in the doorway. Jaskier's shoulders tensed. 

And indeed, the witcher pushed himself off from the railing and casually strolled over in his direction. FUCK. Jaskier could feel his ears burning again. Okay, here goes, he thought. 

Jaskier clenched his hands into tight fists by his side and held his chin a little higher. All he had to do was keep calm, listen to whatever the witcher had to say to him, probably about what Jaskier was doing on his ship or whatever, and then he could go on with his day, pretending like nothing happened. Easier said than done. Shit. 

Geralt (Ouch, again) had caught up to him now, standing right in front of Jaskier, clearly wanting to talk to him. Jaskier let go of the last bit of hope that the witcher had possibly spotted someone else he knew behind him or so. Of course not. 

“Jaskier…” the witcher started. Gods, he loved how the witcher said his name, always so slow and mindful, as if his name was something precious that needed to be handled with much care. Of course, Jaskier knew now that he had only imagined that, wishful thinking it had been. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier blurted out suddenly, not knowing what had overcome him. “Look, it’s not like I was planning to book passage on the same ship you did!" Jaskier yelled angrily while gesturing around wildly. "So I’m afraid you’ll just have to deal with that for a couple of weeks, you’ll survive. I know you wish that _if life could give you one blessing it would be to take me off your hands_...” he growled in a low voice, mimicking the words and the voice of the witcher that day, all while waving his hands around in the air for comical effect. Then, he curled his hands into tight fists again and held them still by his sides, “...but if you seriously expect me to tragically plunge myself over the railing and drown myself in the ocean or something overly dramatic like that, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. Believe it or not, my entire life doesn’t revolve around you. I have business in Skellige and I have every right to book passage on a ship to get me there. So if you don’t want to see me, I suggest YOU stay out of MY way!”

He breathed heavily, as if shouting out those words had been the hardest of physical labour. Not a bad speech, he thought, and mentally prepared himself for the witcher’s answer. 

But as that didn’t come right away and the witcher only stared at him with a blank expression, Jaskier could feel tears welling up in his eyes. FUCK. No, no, not now. It would ruin his beautiful speech and all the courage he had built up so carefully. Jaskier clenched his teeth and forced the tears back down. Hopefully Geralt hadn’t noticed!

Finally Geralt reacted, his face hard and cold as stone. He slowly stretched out a hand toward Jaskier and calmly said “Jaskier, I…”.

But then Geralt's shoulders suddenly flinched, his hand coming to a halt somewhere in the air between them. 

“Ugh, no, Fuck, not now!” Geralt pressed out between almost closed lips. " _Not again!_ ". Those last words were barely more than an angry hiss.

And with that Geralt spun around on his heels and. Literally. _Ran away_ from Jaskier.

Jaskier opened his mouth in surprise. He intuitively raised his shoulders in a shrug and looked around, trying to figure out where the witcher had run off to and what had caused his rapid exit. 

Jaskier's eyes caught up with Geralt again by the railing, at the same spot where he had been waiting when Jaskier had emerged from below deck. Geralt was leaning over the railing now, his head bent down deeply and obscured by his long hair, and he was...wait, was he throwing up? No, it couldn’t be.

Or could it? Was Geralt...actually… _seasick_? 

Almost against his will the corners of Jaskier’s mouth twitched upwards and a short, crazy, disbelieving chuckle escaped his lips. This was too ridiculous. The witcher was seasick. The mighty witcher, who was immune to any sort of illness, poison, exhaustion and most injury, was bending over the railing of a ship and violently emptying the contents of his stomach into the waves below. Seasick! Jaskier shook his head in disbelief.

  
Good, he thought then. Served him right, the bastard, to suffer a little, after he had hurt Jaskier so much. And that also solved the matter of Geralt trying to talk to him. At least for now. Jaskier opened his fists and stretched his fingers a few times, taking in deep breaths. Then he turned around and walked toward the dining hall, ignoring the confused and curious looks of the crowd that had started to gather. Today, Jaskier could actually sense his appetite having returned to him. 

After a lengthy lunch, Jaskier found Geralt in the exact same spot where he had left him. Geralt was on his knees, his cheek leaning against the railing, and his arms dangling lazily over the edge. He looked utterly, beautifully miserable. Jaskier found then that it was far more pleasant to focus on his anger for Geralt and enjoy Geralt's suffering, rather than to lament over his own broken heart. 

Jaskier grinned maliciously to himself over Geralt's misery, before he quickly ducked below deck to retrieve his lute, and then, with feathery steps, marched over to his claimed spot on the frontmost part of the ship to start his afternoon performance. He put down the bowl he had stolen again, strummed a few chords, and much faster this time, knowing what to expect from earlier, a crowd started gathering around him. He sang his songs much more enthusiastically now than he had in the morning and the sound of coin landing in his bowl was frequent. 

It took but two songs before the little boy in the first row, dressed in a turquoise doublet not unlike Jaskier's own (the boys parents had good taste, clearly), requested to play them “that witcher song, please!”. 

Several people in the audience looked over to the figure hunched over the railing on the side. Jaskier forced himself not to follow their example. 

He played the first verse, taking great care not to glance over until he reached the first chorus, so Geralt wouldn’t notice. But his plan didn’t work, because Geralt was outright staring at him and must have been the whole time. Jaskier almost stumbled over his words and quickly looked away again, the tips of his ears burning hot again. 

What was the fool thinking, who gave him the right to stare away at Jaskier like that? But at least it seemed Jaskier wouldn’t have to fear Geralt trying to talk to him again any time soon, because even with his short glance Jaskier saw that Geralt was grabbing onto the railing as tightly as if he was holding on for dear life, his knuckles white from the effort. That railing seemed to have become a close friend to Geralt and it didn’t look like he’d want to part with it any time soon. Still, after that, Jaskier carefully made sure not to glance over to Geralt again for the rest of his performance. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. 

The audience was really good, too. When his voice started cracking after an hour of uninterrupted playing, Jaskier wanted to excuse himself for the evening, but that was met with heavy protests and when a pretty, young lass hurried into the dining hall to fetch him a glass of water, he agreed to play a little more, rewarding the young girl with one of his famous, carefully-practiced-in-front-of-the-mirror winks. Not much else entertainment on a voyage like this, he reckoned. 

Eventually though, his tongue grew heavy and he had to excuse himself and returned his lute to his cabin again. It was close to dinnertime anyway. 

After dinner he decided to keep the bowl with him this time. He’d need it the next couple of weeks anyway. He was just on his way back below deck as he heard a loud snoring sound. Jaskier looked over to the witcher, still in the same spot. He was seemingly asleep, half sitting in front of, half leaning over the railing. Jaskier felt his fury at the man soften at that sight. He sighed. As angry as he was at the witcher these days, and as much as his heart was broken currently, Jaskier couldn't help but worry. It didn't seem like Geralt had left his spot on the railing all day and it didn't seem like anyone was tending to him either. Jaskier hesitated for a moment, but then he decided he'd have to help Geralt out, at least on the most basic level. Not that Jaskier cared for the man anymore, of course, but Jaskier wasn't a heartless monster either. And besides, wouldn't it just be tragic if the Great White Wolf, the hero of his ballads, died of dehydration and starvation somewhere in the middle of nowhere because he was seasick. Not a very heroic ending. It would throw a bad light on the songs about him and therefore wouldn't be good for Jaskier's career. 

He turned around, walked back into the dining hall and added a little clay cup to his collection of kitchenware, which he filled with water. 

Then he ventured back outside and carefully placed the cup next to the sleeping witcher. Geralt didn’t wake up or even flinch. Which meant that he must’ve been really miserable, because normally the slightest of sounds would wake him. Certainly Jaskier's loud footsteps on the ship's planks should have woken him up under any other circumstances. 

Jaskier shrugged and left before Geralt would still wake up after all. He ignored the curious glances of the few passengers that were still on deck and returned to his cabin. 

What a day. Jaskier turned his attention inward, trying to determine his current emotional state. An impossible-to-untangle mess of heartache, anger, relief, worry and a million other emotions was cluttered together in his chest. But mostly, he felt tired, he finally decided, and went to bed. 

The storm that had been looming over the ship all day finally hit at night, rocking the ship back and forth violently. Jaskier couldn’t sleep. He couldn't help but think about the poor witcher, out on the deck, drenched in rain and probably vomiting his guts out with how much the ship was moving under his feet. With some effort, Jaskier finally managed to push the thought away, though. Not his problem. 

The next day, the sky had cleared up and it promised to become a nice, warm, summer day. Geralt was still in his spot by the railing, wet strands of hair pressed against his face. He was awake and clutching the little cup in his big hands, a puzzled look on his face, and so Jaskier quickly looked away and decided to keep his distance. 

He played some more between meal times, and after lunch Geralt was asleep on the railing again and so Jaskier decided to retrieve the now empty cup and replace it with a full one and also filled his trusty coin-bowl with some soup broth, before putting both pieces of dishware down next to the sleeping witcher again. Geralt must have emptied anything he had eaten in the last three months or so into the ocean at this point. 

As he walked away from Geralt, he bumped into a passenger yet again with a surprised yelp. Well it couldn’t be Geralt this time, could it? Nothing to fear. Jaskier looked up at a somewhat elderly man, looking very smart and important with his expensive silk robe and a pair of glasses on his long nose. Jaskier hadn’t seen him amongst his audience before. 

“What’s your business with the witcher then, lad?” he asked, making it very clear that he was talking down to the bard. Jaskier huffed. _lad,_ he thought. He wasn’t a little boy!

Jaskier huffed and rested his hands on his hips. “No business. What’s it to ya though, grandpa?” he returned.

“You’ve been bringing the witcher water.” The man’s voice was dripping with disdain for Jaskier. “If you plan to hire him, I’ll have you know that you’d need to get in line for that. Me and my colleagues have already done so. It’s unpleasant business of course, hiring a monster and a brute like that, but it’s a necessary evil. We’re taking on an expedition into the forests around Kaer Trolde, looking to uncover ancient elven ruins. We need a witcher to protect us from the various vermin that inhabits these woods. It’s hard to find them nowadays, witchers that is, and we’ve offered him good coin, so don’t expect to outbid us.” 

Jaskier felt a familiar fury boiling up inside of him at the words with which the man referred to Geralt. But he fought it down again. It wasn’t his place anymore, to get offended on the witcher’s behalf. So instead of giving the silken clad idiot his opinion on the _monsters_ and the _brutes_ of this world, as he usually would have, he swallowed it down and simply said “Good luck with that then,” and then turned around to continue his way to his cabin, leaving the annoying scholar behind dumbfounded. 

After a few steps he reconsidered, though and turned back around. “You might want to feed your seasick witcher some water and food every once in a while though, or he might not make it all the way to Skellige. Monsters and brutes need to eat, too, ya know?” 

The scholar turned visibly red with anger, but Jaskier simply turned around once more and left him standing there. So that’s whom he had to thank for his lovely run in with Geralt. What an unpleasant person, Jaskier thought. 

But at least the next morning, just as Jaskier emerged from below deck to head to the dining hall for breakfast, he saw the scholar placing Jaskier’s bowl and the cup down next to Geralt. Jaskier pouted. Damn, there went his lucky coin bowl. But at least now that the annoying scholar made sure the witcher was looked after, that made for one less thing Jaskier would have to worry about. Time to fully concentrate on enjoying the trip.

The ship had reached a small archipelago of unnamed islands now. One could see beautiful costs on both sides of the ship now, instead of the endless waves and emptiness from the days before. The island to the left was covered in a beautiful, lush forest, that almost seemed like an illustration out of a storybook. The stories Jaskier could come up with about a place like this! Of lost princesses, heroic knights, magic steeds and evil curses! 

It seemed to help Geralt as well, he determinately focused his eyes on the treeline in front of him and the slightest hint of colour seemed to have returned to the very tip of his nose. Not that Jaskier was paying attention, of course. He wasn’t interested in the witcher anymore, after all. 

After breakfast, Jaskier returned to his usual spot on the bow of the ship and began idly strumming his lute. He had thought of a fun little plan to vex Geralt some more. 

After a bit of discontinuously strumming his lute and when a large enough crowd had gathered he put down his (new, still borrowed from the dining hall) bowl in front of him and started his little number. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, gather around, only here and now a little performance specifically designed for this wonderful voyage!" he disclaimed. Excitement and curiosity was written into the faces of his audience. 

"Any of you who's been aboard a ship before might recognise the tune, it's fairly popular amongst sailors, but let's put a little twist on the lyrics, shall we, to better fit the specific circumstances and sights of this trip!" 

Curiously, a few more passengers strolled over. Jaskier began to sing. 

*Oooh what shall we do with the seasick witcher, what shall we do with the seasick witcher, what shall we do with the seasick witcher - early in the morning?*

He shot a wide grin over to Geralt, who was staring back at him in utter disbelief. Perfect. 

He repeated the lines once more, before he stopped singing, only strumming the tune on his lute. 

"Very well then, dear, lovely audience, your participation is now required. What _shall_ we do with the seasick White Wolf? Any suggestions?" 

Without missing a beat, the hand of the little boy in the first row with the dashing outfits shot up, his eyes glittering bright with mischief. 

"Avoid him 'cuz he's gro~oss," the boy shouted. The other kids around him snickered, admiring the boy's boldness. 

"Very good, young sir, a marvellous suggestion!" Jaskier shouted. 

He thought for a moment how to squeeze the words a little to fit with the tune, and then chimed in singing again along with his playing. 

"Leave him be because he's gross, leave him be because he's gross, leave him be because he's gross, early in the morning.

Oh, what shall we do with the seasick witcher…" 

He continued again with the first verse. A little wobbly, he thought, but after all perfection wasn't the point of this. 

"Good, good," he shouted again. "Who's next, who's got a suggestion?"

"Make fun of him?" suggested a young woman further back coyly, her cheeks blushing. It was the same lady who had brought him a cup of water the day before. "But I suppose we're already doing that," she mumbled. 

"No reason not to sing about it!" Jaskier encouraged her. He pursed his lips and considered how to fit the words. 

Suddenly there was a whooshing sound and the sensation of a warm gust of wind passing by before his face. Jaskier didn’t realize what was happening at first and continued playing. Then an elderly lady in the audience screamed and pointed a shaky finger at a spot a foot or so next to Jaskier. “Fire!” she screamed. 

The railing was indeed on fire where the woman pointed at and the shaft of an arrow was sticking out from the burning spot. What? Jaskier tried to pierce all of that together.

Oh! Someone had shot a burning arrow at the ship, which had passed by Jaskier mere inches away from his face. Before he could process and properly react to this information, several more "whoosh” and “fwup” sounds filled the air, as more arrows were flung through the air and then hit the deck. Panic broke out. 

Suddenly there was screaming and movement all around him. Caught in the sudden shift of emotion, Jaskier’s heart started beating faster, falling into tune to the fear and shock around him. Without his brain really giving the command to his feet, he bolted forward and found himself squeezed in with a mass of screaming and running bodies, his panicking audience trying to reach the stairs below deck to find shelter from the attack. Jaskier was pushed around and thrown this way and that without control and at the mercy of the crowd. He lost his lute. 

An anonymous elbow caught him in the stomach and pressed the air out of his lungs. Before he could catch himself, someone shoved him from behind and knocked him to his knees. He jerked his arms over his head protectively and tried to figure out what the best curse was for this kind of situation. But before he could scream it out, a heavy boot found its way past Jaskier's arms and hit him right in the head. There was a sharp, piercing pain in his temple, and then darkness sank in around him.

  
  
  
  


When he woke up the pain was immediately back in his temple, although more dull and throbbing now, rather than sharp and piercing, and he could feel in his back where people had stepped on him. And on top of all that he was lying uncomfortably on his side on a hard floor, his right arm caught under his body, eerily numb from not enough blood being able to flow through under his own weight. He groaned and wished back the darkness. 

He put a hand to his hurting temple, or rather he tried to, but found that he couldn’t. Something was holding his hand back by its wrist. The pain in his temple and the numbness of his arm Jaskier could explain, but this was very alarming. Jaskier threw his eyes open and tried to make sense of what was going on. As he struggled and failed to push himself off the floor to come to a sitting position he realized that his wrists were tightly bound together behind his back. 

“...bloody fucking hell!” now came that curse over his lips that he was trying to find earlier.

Jaskier gave up trying to sit up and instead rolled on his belly with some effort, so his numb arm could at least get some blood back into it. It immediately started prickling unpleasantly. 

He looked around. The room he was in was a large storage room further below deck, judging by the arched shape of the walls. Around him sat and lay several of his fellow passengers and many of the crew in various states of consciousness. All of them had their hands tied behind their backs by some piece of rope as well. Some were whispering to one another in hushed and scared voices. 

Jaskier lifted his butt into the air and wiggled his legs under his body and thus finally, though shakily, managed to prop himself up into an upright position. Not a very dignified sight, he was certain, but at least he was sitting up now. He looked around again, now with more of the room in his view. Around the group of bound prisoners stood a bunch of brawny people dressed in forest colours threateningly waving swords around every now and then. Not that it was necessary, none of the scared prisoners seemed particularly interested in attempting escape. 

Some commotion in the corner of the room caught Jaskier’s attention and he turned around just in time to see one of the brutes (bandits? pirates?) raising his foot and burying it into the stomach of the man lying in front of him. “Take that ya bastard” he exclaimed. The victim of his kick grunted weakly in response. It was Geralt, Jaskier realized. He was bound as well, but with several lengths of rope wrapped tightly around his body. A piece of cloth had been pushed into his mouth and tied around his neck, gagging him. He looked miserable, a dark bruise forming under his right eye and his black clothes darkened even more from the blood of several deep cuts all over his body. Jaskiers stomach twisted into a tight knot.

“Oy, Eugen, calm down! What’s gotten into ye?” yelled another bandit from across the room.

The kicker turned around. “Ya ‘eard the bastard! He was all throwing curses around when we dragged him down ‘ere!” Eugen called back. 

“Ye, that’s why we gagged ‘im, remember? So calm down!” replied Not-Eugen annoyed. 

“Ye but the bastard already cursed me, didn’t ’e? Said that me dick would shrivel ‘n fall off! An’ he’s a witcher an’ all that! What if it’s really gonna ‘appen an’ all?” he cried.

Not-Eugen, who had now walked over to them, and Eugen both looked down on Eugen’s pants as if expecting something to happen. 

“Eh,” shrugged Not-Eugen finally. “Guess we’ll just ‘ave ter wait ‘n’ see then.”

Jaskier focused back on Geralt. He was glaring at the two bandits, his amber eyes glittering with hatred and disdain. Then he turned his gaze to pass over the crowd of prisoners, his expression softening with worry. 

Jaskier flinched and ducked his head down. He remembered a similar expression in those eyes as from a moment ago, when Geralt was still looking at the bandits. He had seen something like it in the witcher’s eyes only once before, but the anger had been directed at Jaskier himself then, back on that bloody day up on the mountain. He shivered. 

Before Jaskier could decide what to do next, something happened by the trapdoor that led down into the room. Jaskier turned his head. A particularly nasty looking example of bandit was climbing down the rope ladder with some effort. He was bulky but fairly short. One of his eyes was covered by a black eyepatch and one of his legs was missing and had been replaced by a wooden stump. Oh wow! How cliche, Jaskier thought. If he put that into one of his ballads, no one would believe him. Of course he'd first have to survive this endeavour to write a song about it later… 

The bandit reached the floor with an exhausted grunt, showing the effort it took to climb a rope ladder with only one leg. Some other bandit rushed over and dutifully placed a wooden crate in front of the man, who stepped on top of it and shouted down on his fellow bandits:

“Aight, listen up ye lazy lot! You bunch over there collect anything valuable or useful on the ship and get it ready for transport. You three, you take the passenger list and go through this sorry lot,” he ordered, gesticulating at the prisoners. 

“Find out who’s someone important. We’ll take those with us for ransom. Take anyone some bloody noble would pay for. Oh an’ take the witcher, too. We’ll sell ‘im off to some witch, who’ll want ter use his lungs ‘n tongue ‘n such for potions an’ shit. Unfortunately those bitches always want their stuff as fresh as possible though, so we’ll ‘ave ter keep ‘im alive fer now, he’ll pay better coin that way. The rest of the sorry lot we’ll just leave ‘ere, so don’ bother with ‘em.”

“Excuse me, what?” shouted one of the prisoners, whom Jaskier recognized as one of the women who had worked in the kitchen and served food in the dining hall. “What’s gonna happen to the other people then if you just leave us here?”

The bandit leader’s head spun around to fix his eye on the woman, who now ducked her head between her shoulders, trying to make herself as small as possible. The small man stepped down from his box and casually strolled over to her, while examining her with his one eye, hungrily shifting his gaze way lower than was appropriate, lower than even Jaskier tended to do when spotting a beautiful maiden. The muscles in Jaskier’s arms tensed, making the rope cut deeper into his wrists.

“Well missy, either sumone will find yer ‘ere an’ release yer an’ you’ll all be able ter go on yer merry ways, or no one will find yer and yer all gonna starve ‘n die in ‘ere. ‘Tis all the same ter me, honestly, but if yer interested in meeting a sooner end, that can be arranged young la’y”

And with that he brutally groped the woman’s chest. She gasped and tried to retreat from the brute, but said nothing more. The bandit leader let go, shrugged, turned around and struggled back up the ladder. 

Jaskier felt anger and tears welling up inside him. He watched helplessly as Eugen and Not-Eugen dragged Geralt over to the trapdoor by his collar and then hauled him up through the open hole by a rope and out of Jaskier’s sight, not without Eugen using the opportunity to sink his fist into the witcher’s stomach one more time before climbing up after him. Jaskier bit his lip to suppress a sob. 

He watched just as helplessly as some other bandits made their way through the group of scared prisoners, waving around a piece of paper, collecting keys and purses from pockets and sorting the people into two groups. Jaskier nervously chewed on his lower lip as they reached him and tried to blink away his tears.

The brawniest of the three grabbed Jaskier by the collar and made a point of handling him far more harshly than was necessary as he rifled through Jaskier’s pockets and quickly patted him down, finding the purse full of coins tied to his hip. 

Jaskier made sure to endure their treatment as stoically and still as possible, such as to not provoke them further. They didn’t seem like the most intelligent sort and Jaskier had made the experience through many hard lessons that low intelligence in people was often paired with little patience as well. 

Brute#1 retrieved Jaskier’s key from his pocket and tossed it to Brute#2 who read the number on the leather plaque out loud to Brute#3, so she could search Jaskier’s name on the passenger list she was holding. The same process they had gone through with the other passengers. Anyone without a key had simply been assumed a member of the staff and sorted into the “to remain here”-group. 

“Says ‘ere _Jaskier_. Wut kinda name’s that then?” threw Brute#3 into the room. 

“Well, what else does it say? What’s ‘is last name?” returned Brute#2 while fishing the list from Brute#3’s hands. 

“Just says Jaskier, nothing else,” shrugged Brute#3. 

“Ey, I know that name,” chimed in Brute#1, his finger stuck into his nose. He retrieved something from there, examined it for a moment, and snipped it off his finger with his thumb. 

“Ain’t that sum bard or such? I think he’s fairly famous. Maybe we should take ‘im?” he offered.

“Eh,” shrugged Brute#2. “Even if he’s famous, who’s gonna pay ransom for ‘’im? Who’s gonna care about sum bloody bard?”

They all shrugged in agreed unison and dragged Jaskier over to the larger group of prisoners, where they dumped him on his butt unceremoniously and moved on to examine the next prisoner. 

_Who’s gonna care about sum bloody bard?_ the words echoed in Jaskier’s head. Had they taken him, had he put down his real name as he booked the passage, he wondered. His family had cut off any funding ages ago and his cousin certainly couldn’t be moved to pay ransom and wouldn’t care if Jaskier found a quick death on the end of a bandit's sword. But would the bandits have known that? How public had dear cousin Ferrant made it that Jaskier had been kicked out of the family in disgrace? 

Maybe it was for the best that he didn’t use his real name anymore. Or would he have been better off if the brutes had dragged him along behind the witcher? Maybe they would have let him go once they’d realise that no ransom would be paid and he wouldn’t end up slowly starving, tied up in the belly of a ship. Tears shot into Jaskier’s eyes once more, and this time he couldn't hold back a desperate sob. 

The trio of brutes were done sorting the prisoners and were now rushing the smaller group to the trapdoor, harshly dragging along anyone who was still unconscious or even just anyone who didn’t manage to get to their feet fast enough for the brutes’ liking. They hurled the half a dozen or so selected prisoners through the trapdoor-opening just as they had done with Geralt before, and when the last bandit had vanished through the hole after them, the trapdoor was thrown shut with a loud bang before silence fell over the room.

The remaining prisoners, Jaskier included, let out a uniform sigh of relief, although a small and still scared-sounded one, and relaxed a little. After a bit, hushed and whispered conversations about what to do picked up again around the room. 

Jaskier tried to fight down the knot of panic and despair tangled together in his stomach and tried to concentrate on thinking clearly. What should he do now? 

A memory of Geralt’s voice suddenly popped up in his head, lecturing about how he should get low, duck his head down and avoid any danger.  
Normally, he would feel a dull stinging in his chest, reminding himself of the witcher's once concerned words like that, but in the dreadful situation he had found himself in currently, the memory was strangely comforting.

Right then, he had done what the voice asked around the bandits, and in his opinion even rather successfully, considering the circumstances, but the immediate danger had passed for now, so what should he do next, oh all-knowing imaginary voice of Geralt, he mocked himself.  
On the other hand, thinking about what the witcher would do in his situation might actually be helpful… 

Then again the witcher would probably just flex his mighty muscles, burst through the ropes binding his wrists and save the day. Not a feat Jaskier could accomplish he realized, as he tried to struggle against the binding once more. Other than the rope painfully digging deeper into his flesh it had no effect. 

Right then, he sighed to himself. Time for another angle. So what then would Geralt suggest Jaskier should do, he thought. 

Suddenly, another memory of one of Geralt’s lectures plopped into his head like a bubble in the sea rising to the surface and bursting. 

Jaskier felt his cheeks burning hot again. Luckily, the witcher wasn’t around anymore, because if he had known how long it took Jaskier to remember what he just had, he would have...well, it would certainly have been embarrassing.

One other lecture of Geralt’s had included that since Jaskier got himself into trouble so much, he had to make sure he’d be able to defend himself at least somewhat when worse came to worst. And so they had bought Jaskier a little, intricate dagger that he could hide in the shaft of his shoe. Geralt had sewn a little, almost invisible pocket into the fodder of his favourite boots with surprisingly nimble movements for his big hands, and hidden the dagger inside. It had been so long ago and the dagger had been so well hidden and unnoticeable even to the touch of his foot inside the boot, that Jaskier had entirely forgotten about it until now. How silly, he scolded himself, before trying to fish for the dagger with his bound hands. 

He tried two or three times before realizing there was no way he could bend his body so that his hands would be able to reach far enough inside his boot that he’d be able to retrieve the small blade. The only thing he'd accomplish was to strain a muscle in his shoulder. 

“Hey you!” he instead shouted to the next best person next to him. It was the pretty young girl that had fetched him some water so that he’d continue playing the day before. That seemed like almost a lifetime ago now. 

“I have a knife hidden in my boot, but I can’t reach it. Do you think you could retrieve it?”

The maiden’s eyes grew wide and she quickly shuffled closer to Jaskier before turning her back to him and trying to get the dagger out of his boot with her hands on her back. 

After a few awkward attempts and a lot of reaching and stretching from both of them, she finally managed to pull the blade from his boot. She cut her own ties and then Jaskier’s and then a lot of shuffling and moving around ensued, as the dagger was passed back and forth around the room and all the ropes were cut. 

Jaskier stood up and alternately rubbed his wrists with the respective other hand to get the blood flowing back into his fingers. The ropes had cut rather deeply and left some prominent and painful red lines on his wrists. 

Jaskier could practically feel dark bruises forming on his shoulders by the time everyone had been freed and then had proceeded to walk over to him and heartfully pat him on his shoulders, expressing their gratitude for the unexpected rescue that his dagger had brought. 

“Alright, listen up folk,” spoke up the ship’s captain then in an authoritative tone which she clearly had practice with.  
The release from their respective bindings had lifted the spirits of everyone, and the urge to speak in hushed voices had subsided. 

“The ship’s fairly damaged, from what I’ve seen before they tossed us down here, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a few hours of work. So we’ll get to that ‘n then sail to the city of Cidaris, which is still fairly close from here, and there’ll be guards and shelter and food and all,” she ensured, somewhat calming down the general worry, that was still hanging in the room like a rain-heavy cloud on a late summer sky. 

Hopeful and relieved faces now surrounded Jaskier. One could almost imagine someone would punch their fist in the air and yell triumphantly any moment.

“What about my gold though?” yelled someone from the back. Jaskier turned his head. A merchant it seemed, judging by his large belly and the lack of muscles that would have come from farm work or most other trades really (not from barding, though). “I had exactly 628 orens on me and those arseholes took all of it! This will ruin me!”

“Well,” replied the captain, a forced smile on her lips, “You’re welcome to go after them. But I suppose you’ll have to make a choice here as to what’s more important to you: Your life or your coin.”

“What about the guards of Cidaris then?” the merchant still didn’t give up. “Surely once we arrive there and tell our tale the guards will immediately go after those scoundrels!”

“I’m afraid that’s unlikely,” explained the captain, as all the heads in the room turned back to her in unison. “The forest is thick and full of wildlife. It’ll be but a few days before the bandit’s trail vanishes back into the thicket and they won’t be found anymore, if they're even still around by then. And then the guards would first have to identify the particular island. This archipelago is like a maze. No, good sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to bid your belongings goodbye. Those bandits knew what they were doing. Otherwise they wouldn’t have managed to take us by surprise like they did.” 

Everyone’s heads once more turned around to the merchant, who indeed opened his mouth for another protest, but then a woman, seemingly his wife, stepped in front of him, placed a hand on his shoulder and started talking to him quietly but insistently. Probably about which of the two options the captain had given him he should best be choosing. 

“Wh-What about the other people that were taken away?” asked then a little voice into the silence that had followed the exchange. Heads turned once more and focused on the little boy that Jaskier recognized from his performances as the little (but well dressed) nuisance that had always asked for his songs about Geralt. Jaskier looked around, but nothing that would resemble a parental figure could be found anywhere near the boy. Which explained the boy’s question and the thick tears and trails of snot on his face. 

The pretty girl that had retrieved Jaskier’s dagger seemed to notice the absence of a parent as well and hurried over to the boy, wrapping one arm around him and rubbing over his face with the sleeve of her other arm,trying to comfort him. 

The captain responded encouragingly: “The folk those bandits took with them will be ransomed off and returned safely to their families as well. The bastards have no reason to hurt anyone. Don’t you worry boy! There’ll yet be a happy ending to this dreadful story for everyone involved.” The boy nodded bravely in the maiden’s arms. 

_A happy ending for everyone involved,_ Jaskier thought as his lips curled into a sarcastic, humorless grin. Everyone involved, except for Geralt. But why should anyone care about the witcher? About the heartless monster and brute that they saw him as? 

The purpose of this trip had been to get over Geralt. To get used to the thought of living the rest of his days without the witcher in them. And despite Geralt's presence on the ship Jaskier had really gained some hope he’d finally achieve this goal throughout the last couple of days. But there was quite a difference between living his life without the witcher in it on the one hand and living with the knowledge, on the other hand, that Geralt had been auctioned of to some bogwitch like a worthless farm animal, his heart and his eyes and his brain cut out to be turned into some potion that would then be used by...by some posh noblewoman to smear on her face so that her skin wouldn’t age or whatever! The knot in Jaskier’s stomach painfully tightened again. No, he wouldn’t be able to live with the knowledge of that being Geralt's fate. 

He spoke into the general eagerness and excitement that had now spread across the room, almost spitting out the words before his courage could vanish again. 

“I’ll go after him!” he announced. 

Heads turned in his direction. Jaskier’s ears turned red again under the attention, which would normally have been welcome under any other circumstances. 

“I-I’ll go after them,” he repeated, with less and less determination in his voice now. “I need to...uhh…”

He was searching for a good excuse, as the word’s of the bandit from earlier popped into his head again. _Who’s gonna care about sum bloody bard?_

“My lute!” he shouted finally. “I need to get back my lute. A bard is nothing without his instrument, after all. I’d be better off dead than without my…” He cleared his throat and let the rest of his sentence trail off. Without my witcher, he thought. 

“Ay the lad’s gone bloody mad!” yelled the captain angrily, who was now hanging on the rope ladder, halfway up to the hole in the ceiling. “Fine by me. I got more important things to care about than some suicidal merchants and bards and whatnot who don’t know what’s good for them!”

And with that the captain climbed up the rest of the way and vanished through the trapdoor. 

The others followed a few moments later, after they had overcome their surprise at Jaskier’s words. 

Jaskier followed them up last and made his way above deck. 

The sight there was indeed quite disheartening. Nothing was on fire anymore, but there were many large spots of blackened wood on the deck and gaps had burned into the railing here and there. The sails were torn or burned off and a dozen or so lifeless bodies were strewn across the deck. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. Jaskier’s heart dropped and nestled itself somewhere in one of his knees. 

“There ya go, lad,” shouted the captain, as she dropped a plank over the side of the ship and onto the beach with a loud thud. Jaskier flinched at the sudden sound. The captain looked at him with a sly grin, as if expecting Jaskier to back down and say it had just been a joke that he would follow the bandits. 

But Jaskier’s mind was made up. He had to follow the trail of the bandits before they vanished again. No one else would. 

He gulped and made his way over to the captain and the plank. 

As he put his first step on the wooden board someone behind him shouted.

“Wait! Wait a moment!”

It was the precious young girl again. She held his dagger in her hands once more.

“Here! You’ll need this. The bandits took any other weapons that might have been on the ship, but maybe at least this will protect you.” And with that she pressed the dagger into his hands and her lips against his cheek and then twirled around and ran back to join the crowd that had now gathered on the deck. Jaskier smiled sadly after her. Suddenly he felt very lonely. 

“Repairs will likely take at least till the morning. So if by some miracle or such you actually manage to do anything against them bandits, make sure to be back until then,” the captain explained, her expression solemn now that it was obvious Jaskier would not change his mind. 

Jaskier nodded and then turned around to quickly place his next step on the plank before his nerves could get the better of him. He reached the ground and came to a wobbly stand there, his feet no longer used to standing on solid ground after the few days on the water. He clenched his fist around the dagger and clutched the other hand into a fist as well for good measure and to calm down his blank-lying nerves. He was very aware that the people had now gathered on the railing to watch him go, their looks piercing into his back, but he looked sternly forward, making sure not to turn around again. He felt strangely naked and vulnerable without the familiar weight of his lute on his back, even though the instrument would hardly help him with what awaited him. Finally, when his legs felt steady enough that they would carry him, he set off into the forest thicket. 

He had walked for an hour or so, tightly clutching the little dagger to his side and quietly humming the melody of the song to himself, that he was currently working on, so that he would be too busy to think too much about his situation. It was cool and quiet in the forest and the bandits’ trail was easy to follow, even for Jaskier who had no experience in such things. They had dragged their loot behind carelessly and trampled the grass and made no effort to hide their tracks. The next summer downpour would soon take care of that for them, or if not that, the animals and monsters of the forest would cross the trail again and again until it was obscured. 

Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks at that thought, eyes wide opened. _Monsters_. He hadn’t thought of that. Were there any monsters in this forest? What if he encountered one? There was nothing he could do then. The little dagger would be useless in his hands. He would get eaten by a monster before he would ever even reach the bandits’ hideout. He would end up as a neat stack of clean-gnawed bones in some monster’s lair and no one would ever know what had happened to him. No Geralt would come this time to rescue him. His knees gave in and he sank to the floor, clutching the dagger with both hands in front of him and curling into a ball around it. All of the fear and panic he had fiercely held back until now suddenly washed over him in one big wave. The knot in his stomach tightened more than it ever had before and he could taste bitter gile in his throat. 

A loud sob escaped his mouth and shook his shoulders. With it, a dam somewhere inside of him broke and tears streamed down his face in rivers as sobs violently shook him around on the floor. 

He didn’t know how long he had been crying on the forest ground when he slowly came back to his senses again. He was lying on his side now, still vaguely curled together, the dagger still pointed outward in front of his belly. It was starting to get dark. 

Jaskier groaned, rubbed his sleeve over his eyes and struggled back to his feet. With a yelp he reached for a nearby branch as things started spinning in front of his eyes from the dehydration of his tears and from how sudden he’d gotten up. 

He forced himself to take some deep breaths until the forest in front of his eyes stopped shifting. 

At least he hadn’t been eaten yet. 

Something primal and stemming back to his childhood had struggled to the surface inside Jaskier, and of course he knew that it was dumb and irrational, and yet a soft voice inside of him whispered, that as long as Jaskier couldn’t see any monsters, no monsters could see him, and so he continued on his way with his eyes fixated on the bandits’ trail in front of him and nothing else.

This tactic of keeping the panic at bay worked fine for another half hour or so, but then Jaskier came to regret his choices as he ran into a low hanging branch that he hadn’t seen with his eyes focused on the ground and that knocked him down flat on his back. The fall knocked the air out of his lungs but as soon as he managed to get some breath back in there, he used it to hurl out all the curses that came to his mind. Which were quite a few, a poet's vocabulary is vast after all. 

He could feel a bump forming on his forehead. It would surely go well together with the one on his temple from where a boot had hit him earlier. His head was throbbing painfully. 

He allowed himself to lie there for a few minutes, taking in deep breaths, before he struggled to his feet again. He determined the branch that had attacked him and cursed at it some more, for good measure, before he continued on his way, now paying attention to his surroundings again. 

Finally, he reached the bandit camp. He could hear and smell them, long before he could see them, the sounds of laughter and drunk yelling and the smell of roasted meat and unwashed bodies and beer washed over him. 

He held his breath and slowly counted to ten. But nothing indicated that anyone had noticed him. He snuck closer, hurrying from tree to tree, carefully glanzing out from behind them before moving for the next closer one.

Finally he got close enough to reach the treeline, from which the ground lowered into a small forest glen. 

A small path was leading down not far from him, but in the other places the edges of the little valley were steep enough that one would have to at least climb them rather than just walk up. A good spot for a hideout. 

The bandits had set up camp in the little dale and started several fires, around which they were now sprawled out, some sitting, some lying, some clearly already passed out from the alcohol. The atmosphere was ecstatic, beer was passed around in large quantities from large kegs, some animals were roasted over the fires, and the air was filled with shouting and singing. Jaskier even spotted his lute in the clutches of one of the brutes! But he was gripping it all wrong! If he tried to play it like that he would surely...Yep. There it was. With a loud “ploink” one of the strings broke. Jaskier ducked back behind the tree, out of sight, and pressed his back hard against the wood. The lute was the least of his problems, he reminded himself, pressing instead the hilt of the dagger against his chest for comfort. He needed a plan to get out of this mess. 

There was no way Jaskier could fight the bandits, he thought, he didn’t know how to fight. But Geralt did. All Jaskier had to do was to find Geralt, free him of his restraints and the witcher would surely take care of the rest. 

Or maybe he wouldn’t . The witcher was heavily wounded after all. What if he was too weak? And the bandits had overpowered him before, when he hadn’t been covered in his own blood from head to toe. The knot in Jaskier’s stomach clenched together again, as if to remind him that it was still there. But it was the only plan he had. So it would have to do, Jaskier decided. 

Which left the problem of finding the witcher. Jaskier peaked out from behind his tree once more. He couldn’t see Geralt anywhere, nor any of the other passengers or most of the loot from the ship for that matter, but there was a dark, looming shadow of a cave entrance at the back of the glen. Surely that’s where they had to be. Which meant that in order to reach Geralt, he would have to get past all of the bandits first. Jaskier turned back behind his tree and cursed quietly, his lips only mouthing the damning words without a sound. How could he possibly sneak past all of them? He turned back to look at the camp. 

But maybe that problem would sort itself out after all. Several of the bandits were already passed out between the fires and it was really getting dark now. Maybe all he had to do was wait until they had all fallen asleep and then he could sneak through the camp and into the cave. The bandits didn’t seem to have any intention to set up a guard. They were too busy celebrating the success of their raid. 

And so Jaskier waited, leaned against his spying tree, heart pounding heavy in his chest, until the sun had completely vanished and until things had quieted down in the glen below him. He looked out from behind his tree once more and couldn’t spot a single bandit that was still awake. They were lying where they had celebrated, sprawled out between the now dying-down fires, using one another as pillows and blankets. It would make for an adorable sight if Jaskier hadn’t known what cruelty they had been up to earlier that day. 

It was now or never. Jaskier heard his blood rushing in his ears, almost drowning out the omnipresent sound of snoring. 

He patted the rind of the tree in a silent goodbye, clutched the dagger tightly with his other hand, and in the dim moonlight skittered down the pathway down to the bottom of the glen. He held his breath and counted to ten again. There were some grunts and some shifting, but the skittering of loose stones and rubble under Jaskier’s feet didn’t seem to have woken anyone. He exhaled slowly and started on his way across the glen, having to step over sleeping bodies on his way. 

He had successfully made it about half the way, when (of course) his foot got caught on the arm of the sleeping bandit he was just stepping over. The bandit between his legs stopped snoring and grunted once instead. Jaskier inhaled sharply and his heart skipped a beat or two. 

But then the bandit simply rolled over on her other side and started snoring again. Jaskier exhaled slowly and raised his leg to finish the step over the bandit’s body. He granted himself a few moments of just standing there and breathing deeply to calm himself down, before he continued. His chest was aching from all the strain on his poor heart. 

He had left the mass of sleeping bodies behind and almost reached the cave entrance, when suddenly a bandit stepped out from behind a lonely tree that had grown alone on the glen floor nearby. Jaskier and the bandit both stopped dead in their tracks as they spotted one another in the same moment, Jaskier uncomfortably standing halfway through a step, like some bad caricature.

The bandit was holding up his pants with one hand and grabbing the pant’s open lacing with the other. He must have been relieving himself behind the tree, Jaskier realised. He could hear his own heart beating in his ears.

“Ey, who’re you,” asked the bandit, a suppressed yawn in his voice. 

“Ju-just a dream. Go back to sleep,” Jaskier stuttered. Oh gods. That was probably the dumbest thing he could have said in that situation. He should have made up some lie about how he was new to the group or something. But now it was too late. The bandit would wake up his comrades and then they would kill him. Or maybe the bandit would run him through with a sword here and now. It didn’t matter, the outcome would be the same. 

“Eh, you’ll have to lose some more clothes before it’s a pleasant dream,” the bandit muttered with a shrug before dropping to his knees and then on his back, rubbed his eyes and then started snoring loudly. 

Jaskier’s mouth dropped open. He could NOT _believe_ that had worked. Incredible. 

He finished his step, standing normally again. And then he rushed into the cave, before anything else stupid could happen. 

The dark cave hole led to a thin passageway, which was scarcely lit with a torch or two mounted to the walls. He waited until his eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could make out the vague silhouette of the floor beneath him, so that he wouldn’t trip over some loose rubble, before he walked on. 

After a few feet an opening branched off of the passage to the right. Jaskier peeked into it, careful not to be seen. 

Inside were the remaining passengers of the ship, their hands and ankles tied. Most of them were sleeping, their heads leaned against the cave wall or their neighbours’ shoulders, but Jaskier could hear some quiet sobs and crying as well. He looked around but couldn’t spot the witcher’s bright white hair anywhere and so he quickly hurried past the opening and made his way deeper into the cave. Not that he didn’t want to save the other passengers as well, but if he freed them now, there would be noise and chatter and commotion and they would only wake their abductors and alert them to Jaskier’s presence. No, they would have to wait for their rescue a little longer. Jaskier sneaked on.

After a while the passage widened into another room. Jaskier glanced inside. The room was dimly lit by a single candle on the far side. Jaskier could make out several dark shapes in the room, but not what they were. But that had to be all the loot the bandits had dragged away from the ship. A slight reflection of the light on one of the bundles to his right caught his attention. White hair, Jaskier realized. Geralt! 

They had discarded him here with the rest of the _things_ instead of with the other prisoners, Jaskier realized, a flush of anger gnawing at the knot in his stomach. He hurried over to the unmoving body on the floor, his footsteps slightly audible against the cold stone floor. The witcher was still bound and gagged as he was when Jaskier last saw him. He was also still bleeding from the cuts all over his body. 

Geralt grunted and curled up into a ball, but didn’t open his eyes.

He must think him one of the bandits, Jaskier realized. And then: He must think who had come into the cave was going to beat him. Geralt flinched in anticipation. The bandits must’ve used him as a punching bag for their own amusement throughout the evening, Jaskier realized with shock. He dropped to his knees beside Geralt. There was a rancid smell coming off of the witcher’s shirt. Jaskier's jaw dropped in shock. Someone had pissed on him, Jaskier realized. Fury settled into Jaskier’s chest.  _ Eugen, _ he thought in his head and pictured himself shaking his fists toward the cave ceiling. Of course he couldn’t know if Eugen in particular had done this, but in his mind the bandits had morphed into one large mass of evil banditry with Eugen’s face anyway. 

Geralt flinched again, growled and curled up tighter,his eyelids still tightly pressed together. Time to do something. Jaskier grabbed his dagger tighter and carefully cut through the ropes wrapped around the witcher’s body. Geralt threw his eyes open in surprise. He sat up and pulled the gag out of his mouth in one fluid motion and then just stared at Jaskier for several moments with his mouth open. 

“What are you doing here,” he finally hissed through clad together teeth. 

Suddenly Jaskier’s hands, still outstretched in front of him and the dominant one clutching the dagger, started shaking violently. 

“I-I don’t really know honestly, I didn’t exactly think this through! I followed the bandits here, but I can’t fight them, cuz I’m, you know, me, just a defenseless bard, so I thought I’d come free you and then you’d fight them and save the day as usual but you can’t fight them either because you’re injured and oh gods Geralt I’m so sorry, how many times did they beat you up in here and now we’re both stuck in this cave with the bandits outside and they’ll wake up any moment and come to beat you up again and then they’ll find me here and they’ll kill us both and then hurt you more and I’ll only have made it worse for you and…” he squealed, the words blubbering out of his mouth before he could even really think them. 

Geralt suddenly grabbed his wrists. Jaskier stared at their hands and gasped in surprise, thus stopping the flow of incoherent babbling that had forced itself from his mouth. His hands were now held still by Geralt’s but his shoulders still quivered. Geralt let his left hand gently slid down Jaskier’s hand and carefully wrestled the dagger from his grip. Good, with how heavily his hands were shaking, he would probably have hurt himself any moment now. Jaskier’s eyes followed the dagger around, as Geralt slowly reached behind his back with it and tugged it into the shaft of his own boot. Jaskier’s right hand was shaking again, his left still held in place by the witcher’s other hand. Jaskier looked up at Geralt’s face, where he met the witcher’s gaze, who was studying him, an unreadable expression in his amber eyes. 

“...‘s not that bad, just a few scratches,” Geralt mumbled then, breaking eye contact. “I’ve had worse.” 

He let go of Jaskier’s hand and stood up. Jaskier pressed his trembling hands into his lap to force them to a halt. 

Geralt walked around him and picked something up from the pile of stuff behind them. His swords, Jaskier realized, as Geralt flung the straps over his back, securing the blades in place. Next he fished his bag from the pile. Of course Geralt could see much better than himself in this almost complete darkness, Jaskier thought. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Geralt announced, as he walked towards Jaskier and thus toward the exit. 

Jaskier put his hands on the ground in an effort to get up, but as Geralt reached him he placed a hand on Jaskier’s trembling shoulder and pushed him down again with careful but determined strength. 

“Stay. Here.,” he emphasized, before walking out of the cave and leaving Jaskier behind in the darkness. 

Jaskier wrapped his arms around himself once again in an effort to stop their uncontrollable shaking. 

And then Jaskier thought he'd just gone over the edge and went completely insane when he heard the unmistakable noise of someone giggling echo through the chamber. Jaskier’s head darted around but even in the near darkness he could tell that he was alone in the room. He himself was making the sound, he realised. Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he clasped his hand over his mouth because apparently he couldn't fucking stop making the noise. At least that muffled the sound enough that he wouldn't have to fear drawing any unwanted attention to himself. But why in all the gods' names was he giggling uncontrollably in the first place? This wasn't exactly a very joyous situation, Jaskier had found himself in. Geralt was out there, fighting dozens of bandits in his injured state and Jaskier was sitting around uselessly and _giggling_. He bent forward, one hand still pressed to his mouth and the other wrapped around his waist and now trapped between his body. The giggling stopped, thankfully. Instead, his shoulders trembled more violently, so much that it hurt. Jaskier took a shaky breath and sat back up. He had to go check on Geralt, though he dreaded what he might find. 

Jaskier placed one foot in front of him and placed his trembling hands on his knee to push himself up. 

His leg immediately gave in under the weight and dropped to the side as if all strength had left it. Suddenly without support, since he had propped his weight on his leg to push himself up, the rest of Jaskier’s body followed suit and he fell heavily on his side. 

The blasted giggling started again. Or not quite, he tried desperately to breathe in deeply but his breath refused to leave him in any other way than short, successive bursts. At least he was quiet this time. 

Jaskier wrapped his arms around the knee that was bent in front of him and had refused him its service and tried to get his breathing under control. He didn't manage. His sides were aching 

Jaskier didn’t know how long he’d been lying there like that when he heard footsteps behind him. The bandits must’ve overwhelmed Geralt and killed him, and now they came to check how he’s escaped and they’d find him here, curled up in misery. He closed his eyes and pressed his eyelids together. Maybe if he refused to look at them, they wouldn’t find him. It had worked with the monsters, until he’d run into that branch. 

The footsteps stopped behind him. An arm was pushed under Jaskier’s shoulder and then he was yanked upwards. Jaskier gasped and opened his eyes as he was pulled to his feet, his back pressed against the other person’s chest behind him. 

White hair fell around his face and tickled Jaskier’s cheeks. Geralt, he realized with relief. 

“Let’s go,” Geralt’s voice said by his ear and then he was yanked up again and thrown around and suddenly found himself hanging on the witcher’s back, piggyback-wise. 

“I can walk by myself!” Jaskier protested and pushed against Geralt’s back, even though he wasn’t actually quite so sure himself of that statement. 

Geralt simply held his legs tighter and started walking with a grunt, so Jaskier had to quickly wrap his hands around Geralt’s shoulders, such as to not fall backwards.

Geralt carried him to the entrance of the other cave room, where he carefully lowered him to the ground and leaned him against the wall, handling him like some lifeless doll. 

“Wait here,” the witcher growled and pressed down his shoulder again for emphasize, then vanished into the room. 

Jaskier exhaled the breath he had held and leaned his head against the cave wall. His heart was racing like crazy in his chest. He really wasn’t sure if he’d be able to walk by himself anymore. 

Inside, Geralt was releasing the other prisoners. Jaskier could tell as much by the surprised gasps and then the general utterance of gratitude that was coming from inside the cave. Jaskier closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing heart down with some deep breaths. 

Suddenly he was pulled up and thrown onto the witcher’s back once more. He hadn’t even heard the Geralt’s footsteps approach this time. Dammit. 

“Geralt!” he protested once more, but again he was ignored. Geralt, with Jaskier on his back, walked out of the cave, the freed passengers following behind him like a flock of ducklings following their mother. Jaskier had to smile at that mental image. They were quacking and chatting almost like ducklings, too. 

Outside, the now dead bandits were still sprawled out between the fires. Jaskier peaked over the witcher’s shoulder, curiously. There were barely any signs of struggle. Geralt must’ve managed to kill most of them in their sleep. Jaskier really had worried way more than had been necessary, it seemed. 

Outside the cave Geralt turned around promptly to face the small crowd of passengers (ducklings) behind him. The sudden movement let a high-pitched yelp escape Jaskier’s lips. He blushed. Good thing Geralt at least couldn’t see that. 

“All right, listen up!” Geralt barked. “The bandits damaged the ship pretty badly, so the crew’ll probably still be busy with repairs till morning. So we’re gonna march through the night and hurry back to the ship, before it takes off without us and leaves us behind in the wilderness. Any questions?” he asked, but turned around immediately and started walking, leaving the ducklings no time to actually ask any.

One duckling tried anyway. “What about our belongings? Our gold and wares and what else the bandits stole?”

Geralt turned around again. Jaskier was thrown left and right on his back with each turn. 

“I won’t let you slow us down so we’ll miss the ship,” Geralt snapped. “So I guess you’ll have to make a decision between your precious coin or your life. Unless you think you can fend for yourself on this island?” 

Geralt waited for an answer this time, but the man who had uttered the question simply tried to melt back into the shadows of the cave entrance to escape Geralt’s no doubt piercing gaze. Funny, Geralt had used almost the exact same words as the ship’s captain earlier that day, Jaskier mused. The memory of that moment and what happened after popped up forcefully in his head, and before he could stop himself Jaskier babbled out “my lute…” for some dumb reason. 

Geralt growled. He could feel the tremor through his back that he was leaned against. Geralt stood in silence for a few moments so that Jaskier thought he’d simply be ignored again. 

But then suddenly Geralt took a few steps forward and unerringly fished the lute out from underneath the mass of bodies and flung the strap over his shoulder so that the lute came to a halt next to Jaskier. 

“No Geralt, don’t, I was joking, forget about the dumb lute!” Jaskier protested. But this time the witcher _did_ ignore him and simply walked back towards the path that led up and outside the glen. Jaskier sighed.

“Hey, why does the bard get to keep his lute but I don’t get to keep my money!” shouted the same duckling again from behind them. 

“Because the bard I don’t want to run through with my sword when he annoys me! Now come on!” Geralt shouted back without stopping or even looking back. 

The knot in Jaskier’s stomach twitched again. _When he annoys me_ , he repeated Geralt's words in his head. Not if, when. Again, a memory popped into Jaskier’s head, very clear and vividly, even though it had been months ago now. His worst memory. The one that broke his heart. Jaskier felt very tired. He let his head drop against Geralt’s back.

They made their way back through the forest quietly and Jaskier was soon lulled in by the regular way he was shifted from left to right and back from Geralt’s steady steps, interrupted only occasionally when Geralt adjusted Jaskier’s weight and pushed him back higher on his back again. Jaskier fell asleep. 

He dreamt, and his dreams were bloody weird. At first he was standing alone in a forest clearing, his lute in his hands. Suddenly, waves of monsters, one nastier to look at than the other, broke out from between the treeline. They were horrid shadows of human bodies, with skin the colour of dried blood, twisted limbs and thick, yellow grime dropping from their sharp teeth. They came charging at Jaskier. 

Jaskier twirled his Lute around in his hands, grabbed it upside-down by it’s neck and swung it around like a club, sending monsters flying left and right.

He fought for what seemed like an eternity, until finally, the neverending stream of monsters came to a halt. Jaskier was standing on a large pile of dead monsters now, covered in blood and sweat and gore. 

A large hog emerged from the treeline and spoke to him with a grunt. “Ay, I don’t believe my eyes! The bloody bard has done it! What kinda miracle is this?” 

Then the image shifted before his eyes, the monster bodies vanished and instead of the hog there was now a beautiful white steed standing with him on the clearing. Jaskier stretched out his arm and clicked his tongue and the mare came trotting closer, nudging his hand gently. 

He grabbed the reins and swung himself onto the mare’s bare back, and she promptly took off, carrying Jaskier swiftly through the forest, branches passing by him left and right and turning into one large green canvas from the speed. 

Finally they reached another clearing and the horse slowed down. In the middle of the clearing stood a beautiful, large canopy bed, carved from ivory, with roses growing along the corner beams that held a silken canopy. The horse stopped just by the corner of the bed and Jaskier slid off its back and climbed into the bed. The horse transformed into a beautiful, naked princess, a rose covered crown, similar to the making of the bed, on her snowwhite hair. 

The princess tugged him in and pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead. And then the dream shifted again, but this time things simply turned to darkness. A warm, soothing, embracing darkness. 

Jaskier woke with a start and sat bolt upright in his bed. He looked around, eyes wide open. He was in his bed, indeed, in the bed of his little cabin on the ship. Next to him on the chair more lay than sat Geralt, groaning and blinking his eyes slowly. He must just be waking up from the sudden movement, Jaskier thought. The various cuts and bruises on Geralt’s body were now cleaned and wrapped in bandages and he had changed his clothes. Jaskier’s lute had been carefully leaned against the dresser. 

“Geralt! I-I’m so sorry! You were right, everywhere I go I get you in trouble, I’m like a magnet for it! You were right to curse me and send me away and to be annoyed, it’s all my fault that the bandits attacked! I shouldn’t have booked passage on the same ship as you, it’s all my fault ! I mean I didn’t do it on purpose, I didn’t know, honest, it’s just bad luck. But still, maybe I should’ve checked first or something or I don’t know and anyway…” he was babbling uncontrollably again, just like the night before in the cave, when he freed Geralt. 

And just like the night before, Geralt reached out his hands. But this time, he stopped halfway, his hands hanging awkwardly in the air between them. His face was a hard to read grimace. 

“Jaskier, I’m sorry if what I said on the mountain might have hurt your feelings, I…”

Jaskier gasped. “You’re what now!?” he screamed, interrupting the witcher. His voice was several octaves higher than usual. Geralt flinched back, his jaw dropping in surprise. 

“You broke my fucking heart you bastard! You think that's an apology?" He flung the words as hard at the witcher as he could, and indeed, he flinched back again. Jaskier could feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes. No, Not now! He couldn’t cry in front of Geralt now! He wouldn’t!

Jaskier jumped to his feet, managed not to get his feet tangled in the blanket and darted toward the door. Geralt tried to grab his shoulder, and under normal circumstances the much faster man would have managed to hold him back, but through some insane miracle the ship took off in just that moment and the sudden motion of the floor made Geralt stumble back and so Jaskier could duck underneath his outstretched arms and bolt out the door. 

He raced up the stairs to the deck and only stopped several steps outside the door. It was raining again. Jaskier looked down on himself. He was still wearing his pants and undershirt. Good. That would’ve been fucking embarassing otherwise. He took a deep breath of fresh, rainy air and jogged over to his favourite spot on the bow of the ship, his bare feet splashing into the puddles that had formed on the deck. He tightly grabbed both railings to his left and right, pushed his body forward and up with his outstretched arms and then screamed the pent up frustration and anger from the last couple of months out into the grey skies. 

When he’d let it all out he bent his arms again, his feet coming back down onto the deck. He looked back over his shoulder. The deck was still empty, void of any people. He turned his head forward again and sighed in relief. 

Jaskier didn’t make himself any illusions that the witcher would find him there soon, the ship wasn’t very big after all, and he wouldn’t be able to escape a proper conversation this time, but at least he could still stand in the pouring rain for a few moments longer and pout. Make Geralt feel guilty. 

Jaskier shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. It was actually quite cold. Geralt had better hurry up! 

He could hear Geralt's steps behind him a few minutes later. Jaskier pretended not to hear and sternly looked ahead. 

A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. The blanket from his bed he realized. It was already drenched from the rain. 

The blanket was quickly followed by two strong arms which wrapped themselves around him as well, and a chin that was hooked onto his shoulder. Jaskier tensed up.

Geralt sighed. 

“I’m sorry about what I said on the mountain that day,” he whispered into Jaskier’s ear. 

“I didn’t actually mean it. I was just. I don’t know.” His voice sounded unusually soft and vulnerable. 

“After Yennefer cast me away like that I was scared that you might leave me as well. Not there and then, but eventually. And I thought it would be easier to remove you from my life before that could happen.” 

A long pause followed. Geralt’s white hair tickled his ear.

“It wasn’t,” Geralt finally continued. “I pushed away the only other person I care about in this fucking world. I pushed away the only person that I…” 

Another pause. Don’t let my silence interrupt you, Jaskier thought snippingly. But he didn’t say anything. 

“...the only person that I...love.” Geralt spat the word out as if it had been a large clump stuck in his throat. Jaskier slightly flinched at it. Oh. 

"The only person I love, as I realised as soon as you were gone." 

Another pause. 

“And that was very dumb of me. And it hurt you. And I’m sorry. Very, very sorry. Can you forgive me?” Geralt finished. 

Jaskier considered. The pieces of his broken heart were pounding in his chest. Could he forgive him? He honestly didn’t know. And so he still said nothing. 

Geralt sighed. “At least come back inside, okay? It’s pouring.” 

“Hmm,” said Jaskier in response, not moving. He could feel the corners of Geralt’s mouth twitching upwards next to his ear. 

“You’ll catch a cold and then you’ll be sniffling and your nose will run snot all over your face and you’ll look utterly disgusting,” Geralt snarked into his ear. Fuck. That was a good point unfortunately. 

Jaskier sighed and let the tension drop out of his shoulders. “Fine!”, he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. Not that Geralt could see that. 

“Good.” Geralt took a step back and Jaskier turned around. But before he could take a step forward Geralt grabbed him by his waist and flung him up into the air and onto his shoulder (“Woah” and “Uff” Jaskier voiced respectively). 

Geralt wrapped one arm over Jaskier’s back, locking him in place, and made his way over to the doorway that led below deck. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier protested. He tried to struggle, but his feet only kicked into the air and his arms were still hopelessly tangled into the blanket. 

They reached the doorframe and Geralt ducked under it and made his way down the stairs. Jaskier’s back was gently scraping against the ceiling. 

“Geralt, look out, the lamp!” Jaskier screeched, but Geralt was already holding the little lantern that was hanging from a chain in the middle of the hallway out of the way. He let go as they passed it and it swung back and forth behind them, casting strange shadows over the walls. 

They reached the cabin. Geralt carefully sat him down on the bed before closing the door behind them and sitting down on the chair again. 

Jaskier pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and pouted. The corners of Geralt’s mouth twitched in amusement. 

“So what now?” The witcher turned serious, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand, his elbow supported on his knees, studying Jaskier’s face intently. "Do you want me to leave?" 

Jaskier sighed and looked away, concentrating instead on the dresser. He tried to make some sense of all the emotions that were racing around in his chest. 

“You’d...have to promise never to send me away like that again,” he carefully explained to the dresser. The promise of tears was tugging on the corners of his eyes again. 

“I won’t,” Geralt ensured immediately. “It is my deepest regret that I did so in the first place.” 

They fell silent. Jaskier could swear he could make out a face in the pattern of branch holes on the wooden dresser. 

“You have to promise not to get yourself in danger like that again,” Geralt finally said. 

Jaskier swung his head around harshly, staring down the witcher in front of him. Geralt flinched back, sinking deeper into the chair. Jaskier registered with some satisfaction that the witcher even sucked in air sharply. 

Jaskier put one hand on his hip and raised the other hand into the air, his index finger stretched out toward Geralt's chest. “ONLY when you’re not in mortal danger,” he explained with a smirk. Geralt's knuckles were white from clutching the armrests tightly. That would teach him to make demands just after apologizing, Jaskier thought. 

“Hmm,” Geralt responded. 

Geralt leaned forward again, taking Jaskier’s hand in his and placing a gentle kiss on Jaskier's accusingly outstretched index finger. 

Now it was Jaskier’s turn to breath in sharply. 

“My brave bard,” Geralt whispered into Jaskier’s palm. 

Okay. That was enough, Jaskier decided. That was the point where he couldn't pretend to still be upset with the witcher anymore. He slid to the floor in front of Geralt, cupped his face into his hands and pulled him down to place a passionate kiss onto his lips. Geralt's eyes widened for a moment, before he wrapped his arms around Jaskier and opened his mouth to kiss him back. 

Before Jaskier could properly lean into the kiss, Geralt suddenly jerked backwards. 

Jaskier’s eyes widened in fear. Had the witcher changed his mind after all?

Geralt let out a low growl. He jumped to his feet, pushing Jaskier out of the way, muttered “fuck” under his breath and darted out the door. Jaskier stared after him, baffled. That wasn't the usual reaction he got for his kisses. In fact, many people had praised his skill in that regard, thank you very much!

Then he noticed the soft swaying of the ship under his feet. Oh. right. He remembered. Jaskier smiled mischievously.

He made use of the interruption to carefully gather his senses back together and get his breathing and heartbeat to a normal level. Then, when he was confident he'd manage to get up without his wobbly knees giving in, he wrapped himself in the drenched blanket again and followed Geralt outside. 

He found him, of course, above deck, draped over the same spot of railing, looking miserable. 

Jaskier walked up to his side and wrapped the blanket around the both of them, and pulled the witcher’s hair out of his face.

“Well I’m not kissing you on the mouth anymore _now_!" Jaskier teased, before placing a kiss on the witcher’s cheek instead. 

“Ungh,” Geralt grunted miserably over the railing. 

“Go back inside,” Geralt finally managed to growl. “I won’t tend to you if you get sick,” he threatened. 

“Yes you will!” Jaskier chirped into his ear. 

“Yes I will,” Geralt sighed in resignation.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated! Thank you~  
> Say hi on [tumblr](https://justablobfish.tumblr.com/), if you want!


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